


Dean's Perfect Ending

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x09, Domestic Bliss, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester Fluff, Episode: s15e09 The Trap, Established Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, F/M, Family, Headcanon, This Will Sting, Tragedy, fair warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21995932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: They’re friendly with their neighbors, but it’s unlike anyone to just drop by the Winchester-Leahy property on a whim. Plus, they usually ring the doorbell.If anything, there’s a Devil’s Trap underneath the welcome mat, so it’s not like they can go far if they’re otherworldly.When he moves to grab a clean knife from the drawer to cut the dough, he gets a better glimpse at the man.And his heart stops.
Relationships: Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	Dean's Perfect Ending

**Author's Note:**

> This is my headcanon for 15x09, since Chuck will supposedly--or at least to my impression of the preview--give Sam a glimpse of his future.

## Dean’s Perfect Ending

**“I want you to get out. I want you to have a life… you, with a wife and kids and grandkids, living till you’re fat and bald and chugging Viagra. That’s my perfect ending, and it’s the only one I’m gonna get.”**

**–Dean Winchester, 8x14**

January 24, 2026

“ _… and it looks like it’s going to be clear skies into the week with a low of seventy and a high of ninety as we move into the weekend, so grab your swim trunks and head on down to Mystery Spot Water Park, where all your dé·jà vus become dé·jà a-news. I’m T. Rickster—”_

“Why do you even bother with the weather?”

Sam sets the remote on the armchair of his double reclining La-Z-Boy. He moves back into his kitchen—granite countertops completely unrecognizable with all the excess flour. Somehow, there’s even egg yolk dripping from the window sill.

And though it’s a nice, stained-glass view of their thousand-square foot garden, surrounding their white picket fence with everything from baby’s breath and chrysanthemums—there’s nothing he’s more proud of than the woman in front of the cluttered sink, vigorously scrubbing cherry paste from her hands.

He wraps one arm around her, kissing her neck softly before using his other to half-sign ‘ _surprises’_ when he says, “Just anticipating any surprises.”

Eileen shuts off the running water and turns to face him with a soft, reassuring smile and hands on his cheeks. “Everything will work out. He’d love it... _will_ love it.”

“He would’ve killed me for almost baking a cake.”

“That’s why you keep me around.”

“That and ‘ _other things’_ ,” Sam says, signing the latter part with wiggling eyebrows.

Eileen slaps him lightly. Instead of returning the playful jest, he wipes cherry paste from her rosy cheek. It really is true what they say about a natural glow.

“Okay, what’s next?”

“Could you roll the top layer for me? I’m not sure if I made it thin enough.”

“You got it, boss,” he replies jovially, moving to grab the roller when the screen door rattles.

Sam looks to Eileen with both question and concern. They’re friendly with their neighbors, but it’s unlike anyone to just drop by the Winchester-Leahy property on a whim. Plus, they usually ring the doorbell.

“I’ll get it,” Eileen states, brushing her hands on her apron before moving for the door.

Sam can’t see from his vantage point in the kitchen who it is, and he doesn’t recognize the voice as any of his neighbors, but he sounds just as jovial towards his wife, so he continues rolling. Plus, if anything, there’s a Devil’s Trap underneath the welcome mat, so it’s not like they can go far if they’re otherworldly.

When he moves to grab a clean knife from the drawer to cut the dough, he gets a better glimpse at the man.

And his heart stops.

Frantically but quietly, he runs to the kids’ bedrooms. First to Johnny’s, then to Magda’s.

“Daddy? What’s—?”

“Take your brother outside as fast as you can—don’t look back,” he tells her, urgency unequivocal in his tone.

“What?”

“Now, Magda, go!” he almost yells as he places the one-year-old in her arms.

Under no other circumstance would he be grateful to scare his daughter into running away from him, but today has to be the bitter exception.

He rushes back to the living room, but not before retrieving the Colt from his bedroom safe. Only, when he returns, his living room is filled with fire and smoke. The oven timer is going crazy. Eileen is pinned against the ceiling, the flames licking her—teasing and taunting her, but not actually touching her.

She whimpers his name. He somehow hears it over the roar of the flames and his maniacal laughter—the monster, the myth, the legend.

“Miss me, Sam?”

Sam doesn’t hesitate pulling back the trigger on the gun. He aims, fires, and…

Click.

“Aww,” Azazel preens, eyes flashing yellow as Sam fumbles with the gun, “isn’t that a shame?”

With the flick of his wrist, Eileen’s neck snaps and the flames attack her.

“No. No, no, no, no, **NO**!” Sam shakes his head, as if to shake off this bad dream. But it only brings more awareness to the heat sticking to his skin, engulfing his lungs, his throat—eating him alive from the outside in.

He somehow screams through it all. Even as everything—from the kitchen to the flames enslaving them—is stripped of color like a failed Technicolor until it’s fading out of view completely and he’s standing next to Chuck again in the abandoned warehouse, who’s grinning ear-to-ear.

“Welcome to the end.”


End file.
